The Émigrée
by Age of Edward Contest
Summary: Russia, as they knew it, was falling into anarchy. With civil war, the Great War, and Eduard fighting on the Eastern Front, would Iza and Eduard find happiness in this chaos?


**The Émigrée**

 _The author does not own any publicly recognizable entities herein. No copyright infringement is intended._

Izabella Lebedeva barely noticed the sounds of the dinner party downstairs, instead focusing on the quiet street below. Fluffy snowflakes glowed in the warm light of the gas lamps, before joining their comrades in a soft white blanket. It was New Year's Eve. When she was younger, the most important part of New Year's Eve was the arrival of Ded Moroz, or Grandfather Frost, who brought gifts to children. Now, she wondered what 1917 itself would bring.

"Iza? Why are you out here by yourself?"

She turned away from the glittering snowy view from the library balcony, and smiled at the bearded man next to her. To his contemporaries and to his students, he was Professor Karol Lebedev, brilliant political strategist and advisor to Tsar Nikolai II. To Iza, he was simply "Papa."

"I am thinking, Papa."

"Oh?" he teased. "Then we're all in trouble." At Iza's grimace, he continued more seriously, "You worry, don't you?"

His eighteen-year-old daughter sighed. "Yes. There has been so much unrest for so many years. Our beloved St. Petersburg was renamed Petrograd to appear less German, your university is now Petrograd Imperial University, and we are at war…again! I understand that the Tsar needs to defend the status of Russia in the Balkans, and why he decided to take over command of his army. However, you told him the losses would be blamed on him, and you were right. Now Rasputin has been murdered."

"Which may be a good thing, given the influence he had on the Tsarina and Russian politics," he responded dryly. He gazed it warm brown eyes of his only child, eyes so like his own, and shook his head. "So many times I think that I should have sent you to live with your mother in America. At least you would not be in the middle of all this turmoil."

Iza opened her mouth to protest when a handsome man with blond hair entered the library. "Karol Geoffreyevich!"

Her father spun round, greeting his friend with a grin. "Carlisle Williamovich! Fashionably late, I see." The two men shook hands, forgoing the traditional three-kiss greeting. Iza shook her head and smiled. It was a running joke with these two. Both Carlisle Cullen and her grandfather Geoffrey were from London, and Dr. Cullen and her father delighted in teasing each other with "rusified" patronymics.

"Good evening, Izabella." Carlisle took both her hands, kissing her on both cheeks. Iza looked up into his unusual golden-brown eyes. She had, of course, known him and his wife Esme for nearly half a decade. "You are more beautiful every time I see you. How many young men are there wishing to court you? Twenty? Thirty?"

Iza grinned. "I wouldn't know, Dyadya Carlisle. They can't get past Papa."

Her father huffed. "You take your time before you settle on a young man, my Iza. You're too special to go to just any one." He turned to his friend. "How is that boy of yours? Still fighting at the Front?"

"Actually, he was planning to be here tonight."

Iza could actually feel her heart do a little skip. Carlisle and Esme adopted ten-year-old Eduard when a cholera epidemic took his parents. When she met him, he as a gangly bronze-haired fifteen-year-old and she a clumsy thirteen, they formed an unlikely friendship. As they grew, the friendship took on a more romantic flavour. Well, at least it did for Iza. Eduard seemed consumed with cricket (an English sport which became popular in St. Petersburg), his piano, and, of course, his desire to join the Imperial Army. For over a year, the Tsar's army was all he talked about. As soon as he turned twenty, his conscription papers arrived, and he off he went.

Dr. Cullen and her father wandered downstairs, deep in a discussion about the war. Iza turned back to her contemplation of the gas-lit street. Soon one of those popular Russo-Baltique cars crunched down their small street, parking close to her father's townhouse. A tall man in a long, tan Imperial Army coat emerged, walking quickly to their front steps. Iza didn't hesitate, but hurried downstairs in time to see him hand his coat, hat, and gloves to their butler, chatting briefly with him. The young man's untamable reddish-brown hair glinted in the light as he gazed around the small crowd of guests, obviously searching for someone.

To her surprise, the man didn't go straight to his parents. Instead, when he spotted Iza on the opposite side of the room, his gray-green gaze lit up, and he walked purposefully toward her.

"Izabella Karolovna," he greeted her with a smile, taking her hands and lightly kissing her cheeks. Iza held on tightly to his hands, half afraid that her knees would give out. _This is ridiculous_ , she scolded herself. _You are acting like a silly school girl._

"Eduard!" responded Iza. She tentatively returned the greeting, his cheeks feeling chilled against her lips. "I'm so glad that you were able to come tonight."

"I am too." He glanced ruefully toward the empty dining room. "It appears that I arrived too late, though."

Iza laughed. "Always looking for something for your stomach," she teased. "Come with me. There's probably food left in the kitchen." She tugged gently at her hands. Eduard, apparently forgetting that he was still holding them, flushed slightly before releasing her.

Together they crept into the darkened kitchen. The housekeeper had already left to celebrate New Year with her own family, but old habits die hard.

"Do you remember when we used to do this as children?" whispered Eduard.

"Children? You were sixteen!"

"And seventeen…and eighteen," he grinned. Then his smile faded. "Yes, we were both children then."

Iza, who had just discovered the loaf of fresh-baked bread from earlier, turned to look at her friend carefully. For the first time tonight she saw past the uniform that accentuated his lean build and broad shoulders, past the handsome features. She noted that, during the months he'd been away, his face lost its boyish look. Instead, weariness settled in his eyes. He had the appearance of someone who had seen too much, and couldn't forget it.

Iza arranged food for both of them on a plate, while Eduard poured himself a glass of red wine. "Would you like to let your parents know you are here, and then come up to the library for your dinner?" she asked.

Her friend smiled. "The library – our favourite conversation place," he remarked softly. "I'll meet you there in ten minutes."

By the time Eduard paid his respects to his parents and to her father, Iza had already added another log to the library fire and arranged the large "discussion pillows" they usually sat on.

The pair talked for more than two hours. Edward told her of the horrors he'd seen. Soldiers slaughtered by the hundreds, and even an isolated village where the people were so hungry that they had resorted to cannibalism.

"I travelled to that village with one of my comrades, in spite of warnings not to go there. He wanted to take food to his mother and grandmother. But when we arrived, they didn't recognize him. I could almost read their minds…they were sizing us up for a meal. We left the food and ran."

Iza listened, horrified, responding when appropriate. She realized that her friend didn't really want to discuss, but rather to purge.

"You can't tell your parents about this, can you?" she surmised shrewdly, when Eduard finally wound down.

He shook his head. "Esme would be upset, and Carlisle would worry about me returning to the front next week. It doesn't matter, though. They can probably hear me anyway."

What? That didn't make sense. "They can hear you?"

"I mean they will hear of it anyway," he corrected quickly. "What of you? Tell me about your life in Petrograd in my absence. Any suitors for me to drive away?"

Iza responded with an unladylike noise. "Why is everyone suddenly asking about my suitors? You know perfectly well that most men are put off by intelligent women."

The dying firelight danced across her friend's frowning face. "Only the stupid men, and you would be bored with a stupid man anyway. You are a beautiful woman, Iza. Beauty and intelligence are an enticing combination."

Iza fought to keep her expression and breathing normal. He looked so serious, his gaze taking on a new intensity. She wished she were brave enough to ask him what he really meant.

Eduard studied her face, then sighed. "There are many things that I wish I could tell you, but I can't. Not yet."

"When?" she blurted, before her common sense had a chance to stop her.

He remained silent for a moment. "Soon," he eventually responded. "Hopefully, soon."

The chiming of the library clock startled them both. "Midnight," stated Eduard, his signature grin flashing.

"Another year." Iza stood up quickly. "We'd better go downstairs to the others, before the twelfth chime."

Eduard stood also, abruptly grasping her shoulders and pulling her toward him. "Happy New Year, Iza." To her astonishment, he bent his head and kissed her lightly on her lips.

Iza stared up at him, stunned. They both smiled shyly at each other before hurrying downstairs to the party. It wasn't until much later that Iza realized that she didn't wish him "Happy New Year" back.

She never had a chance to do it later, either. The next day her father told her that Eduard had been called back early.

As the year passed, Iza saw nothing of her friend. In fact, she barely saw his parents either - they always seemed to be travelling.

The political unrest worsened. For over a week in early 1917, terrible riots and strikes broke out in Petrograd. Regiment after regiment of the Petrograd army garrison, who were supposed to be quelling the demonstrations, joined them. Eventually the Tsar was overthrown, and a provisional government installed. Several members of the aristocracy actually welcomed the change, hoping for advancements in industrialization. However, when the exiled leader of the Bolshevik revolutionary party, Vladimir Lenin, crossed German enemy lines from Switzerland to return to Russia, an undercurrent of fear grew among Karol Lebedev and his friends.

"Lenin doesn't care about the people, Iza," he told her once. "He cares about his own megalomania."

Iza and Eduard managed to exchange letters, magically transported by Dr. Cullen, who said he know of a "special mail route." Eduard wrote of heavy losses and dwindling hope for victory against the Germans. By summer, although she continued to write, Eduard's letters stopped. Eventually the Cullens disappeared as well. They never said anything about Eduard, and Iza feared the worst.

For several nights, her pillow bore witness to her grief. Every few days, she walked to the square outside the Palace, to scan the lists of names of those who were lost to the war. Hope flickered to life each time she saw that his name wasn't there.

Soon afterward, Iza's father asked her to join him in the library one evening. His face looked like it aged overnight.

"Iza, last night armed men broke into the home of Baroness Natalia Petrovna, burning it to the ground. You remember her son Mikhail, don't you?" Iza nodded, stunned.

"Did they survive?"

"Yes, thanks be to God. They fled to a neighbour. Another family friend, Prince Ivan, was beaten to death while hiding from a mob in a train station. It's becoming clear that Petrograd, their family home for centuries, is no longer safe for aristocrats. The Bolsheviks are determined to wipe out an entire class of people."

Iza's mind flashed through all the possibilities. "Do you think the Cullens are a target, and they fled? What should we be doing?"

"I don't know, Izochka. They need the universities for the war effort. We should be safe for now."

Privately, Iza thought that the temporary government need engineers at the university, not historians and political advisors like her father. Her fears increased when the Bolsheviks took Petrograd in a mostly bloodless coup. By late autumn, the Bolsheviks were firmly in place, and all members of the upper class were declared "former people."

Soon, the definition of "upper class" expanded to include any highly educated people – the bourgeoisie - including Orthodox bishops and some priests. Lenin considered higher education and religion threats, and wanted them repressed.

"Former people" were not permitted to own property, nor were they allowed food rations. Aristocrats, doctors, and clergy fled by the thousands, desperately aiming for any border that would take them. Iza and her father helped where they could, always being careful to not raise suspicion.

Then came the evening, in January 1918, when all hades broke loose. It was just over a year since Iza last saw Eduard. She and her father had just finished dinner, and, as usual for this time, she was in her bedroom, standing before her little icon of the Mother of God. This icon always gave her a sense of peace, but tonight she felt more agitated that usual. She fiddled with the baptismal cross she wore under her blouse, lightly feeling the words "Spasi i sokhrani" engraved on the back. "Save and protect." She hoped Eduard wore his as well.

Her thoughts were disturbed by some commotion in the street outside. Running to her window to look, she saw five armed Bolshevik soldiers approach their house. They pounded on the door with their weapons, demanding entry, before breaking it down.

Iza wanted to scream, but no sound came out. She leapt back from the window. Papa! Her father was downstairs! Before she could run to the hallway, there were sounds of booted feet stomping, glass breaking, and furniture being thrown aside.

"What is the meaning of this?" her father demanded in Russian.

"You, Karol Lebedev, are declared a former person, and are charged with treason. Fire!"

Iza covered hear ears against the terrible sound of gunfire, echoing and re-echoing though the house. She wanted to run to her father, but common sense and self-preservation prevailed.

"Search the house! He has a daughter."

"There's some nice silver here…"

"Take it. He won't be needing it anymore."

Their ugly laughter spurred her into action. The balcony was too high from the ground for her to escape. She quickly tuned off her light and dove under the bed, grateful for the bed valence that hid her.

The soldiers stormed through the house, demolishing each room as they went. Iza made herself as small as possible under her bed, trembling and praying, hardly daring to breathe. When a booted foot brushed against the bed valance, she stopped breathing entirely.

"Nothing much here," one of the men growled. "He was a professor, not a grand duke. The girl's not here either."

"Let's go," another shouted. "We have two more vermin to exterminate tonight."

Iza had no idea how long she lay hidden under her bed. She knew she should check on her father, in case, by some miracle, he was still alive. If she waited too long, and he died, it would be her fault. The small, sensible voice in her mind told her that he was already gone, that the soldiers would have made sure of that. However, emotionally she couldn't accept it, and she was shutting down.

The dim light of dawn had just begun to creep into her room when she heard a familiar voice shouting her name.

"Iza? Don't be afraid. It's Carlisle and Esme."'

Dyadya Carlisle and Tyetye Esme. They wouldn't harm her. She could trust them. They wouldn't betray her to the Bolsheviks…would they?

"Iza darling, it's Esme. I'm coming up to your room. Oh Carlisle, she's terrified!"

"She's probably in shock as well, poor child."

"I'll get her." Eduard? It couldn't be. She must be hallucinating.

"But son, the blood…"

"I'm alright. Iza? I'll take you somewhere safe."

His footsteps on the wooden stairs were quick and light – not at all like those of the soldiers. Iza wanted to say his name, but all that came out was a squeak. Eduard must have heard it, though.

"It's alright Iza, no one will harm you. Please come out," he coaxed softly. "Do you want me to help you?"

She moved slightly, her stiff muscles protesting. "Yes," she managed to whisper.

Pale, slim hands appeared at the valance near her head. The valance was lifted, revealing the worried face of her friend. He must be lying on his stomach next to her bed.

"You used to hide here as a child," he smiled, his voice gentle and slightly more musical than she remembered. "Come. Shall I pull you out?"

Iza nodded mutely, still not entirely sure he was real. He stretched out his hands and grasped her elbows. The next moment they were both sitting on the floor, she cradled in his lap. She knew their position was inappropriate, but she didn't care.

"You're alive," she exclaimed in a raspy voice. "You came."

"I came," he agreed. "I should have been here a few hours earlier. I'm so sorry, Iza."

It was then that the tears came. Tears of gratitude that Eduard was alive. Tears of grief and pain for the horror of what she just lived through.

"Papa. I must go to him."

Eduard's arms tightened around her. "You don't want to see that room, Iza."

"Son, we have to get Iza away from here before the soldiers come back. Her name is on the execution list."

Iza felt her friend's chest rumble with what sounded like a low growl. He grasped her chin gently and made her look directly at his face. "Iza, I know that it's hard for you to think about this, but I need you to pack a bag with whatever you want to take with you. We are going to leave St. Petersburg…Petrograd."

"But Papa…"

Carlisle spoke again from outside the door of her bedroom. "I'll move him to another room, and you can say goodbye to him if you wish. Eduard is right – you do not want to see his study."

Iza nodded, stood up, and went to her armoire. Silently she removed a small suitcase. "We are not coming back, are we?" she asked dully, her eyes focused on her task.

Eduard exchanged glanced with Carlisle, who shook his head mutely. "Not for some time," the younger man eventually hedged.

Somehow Esme appeared next to Eduard. "Iza darling, I'm going to help you pack while the men move your father. Is there anything that you want them to retrieve from the study?"

Iza considered for a moment. "Papa's journals, his pipe, and the photograph from his desk, please." Esme nodded, and the men left.

Esme helped her choose what to take, explaining that she would need gold and jewelry, and a fur stole – not to wear, but for bribes. "You will go with Eduard," she informed Iza as they carefully wrapped a few precious items. "You will travel as husband and wife, and Carlisle and I shall follow. We'll be less conspicuous if we separate. It's good that you and Eduard both speak English, French, and Russian, as you'll need all of those."

Iza was silent for a moment. "Tyetye Esme? What happened to Eduard?"

The lovely, caramel-haired woman paused, then asked, "What do you mean, dear?"

"He disappeared, and now his eyes are dark brown. Did something harm his eyes? He can obviously still see, but he looks so pale, even for him."

Esme studied the young woman standing by the bed. "Yes," she responded, her voice kind. "Something did happen to him. It's a long and difficult story…you'll have to ask him to tell it."

Ten minutes later Eduard knocked on her doorframe. "Ready?"

Iza took a deep breath, forcing herself to think logically. "May I go to his bedroom to find a couple of things?"

"Of course, Izochka. Whatever you need. We don't have much time, though."

"Time is what I need," she murmured, slipping past her friend. Her father's room, as she expected, was in shambles. She quickly plucked his icon, family bible, and photographs of him and her mother, from his bedside table. Then she felt under his mattress for the stash of rubles he kept there. She hurried downstairs after Eduard, deliberately not looking back.

Someone had closed the door of her father's study. Shattered glass and china littered he floor, painting were shredded, and furniture lay broken everywhere.

"Are you certain you want to see him?" asked Eduard softly, taking her suitcase and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "I'm sure he would understand.".

Iza nodded. She needed the closure – she knew that – even though she was afraid of what she would see.

Eduard guided her to the front salon, where her father lay on a settee. Somehow someone changed his clothes – there was no sign of blood anywhere, although she could smell it when she passed the study. Creeping closer, she clung to Eduard's hand. Carlisle and Esme stood by her father, and Esme wrapped comforting arms around her, although Iza refused to release Eduard. The heavy drapes were closed in the room, and in the warm glow of the lamplight Karl Lebedev looked almost like he was asleep. With a trembling hand she reached out to touch his cheek, and then the tears came. It was then that she knew he was truly gone.

"Papa," she whispered, before the sobs she fought against finally won, and she fell to her knees next to him. Eduard was beside her, attempting to comfort her.

"No!" She jerked away from her friend. "No, you feel like him! Your skin feels dead, like his! You're cold, like him! You're all like him!"

Other than a sharp inhale from the man next to her, the Cullens were completely silent. Iza's face was in her hands as she sobbed, purging, before realizing what she said.

"Oh merciful God," she murmured, finally raising her head. She glanced from Eduard's defeated-looking expression, to Esme's stricken one, to Carlisle's sympathetic gaze. "I…I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me. I didn't mean…" She wasn't the only one who mourned Karol Lebedev – Dyadya Carlisle lost a good friend.

"It's alright, Iza," interrupted Carlisle gently. "We understand. Eduard will explain about us during the journey."

"If you are still willing to come with me," his son added. He was offering her a choice, although there really wasn't one. "Either way, you need to escape from here before those Bolshevik soldiers return to ransack the house."

Iza nodded, furtively wiping tears from her face with her fingertips. "What about Papa?"

The Cullens looked at each other. "Is there time to say the prayers for him?" asked Eduard. "Iza, would you like that?"

At her nod, Carlisle asked everyone to bend their heads.

"Have mercy on us. O God, according to Your great mercy; we pray You, listen and have mercy. We pray for the repose of the soul of the servant of God Karol, departed this life, and for the forgiveness of his every transgression, voluntary and involuntary."

Iza recognized the words of the Trisagion for the Dead. The prayers, spoken in Carlisle's calm, firm voice, were like balm to her heart.

"Let the Lord God establish his soul where the Just repose; the mercies of God, the Kingdom of the Heavens, and the remission of his sins, let us ask of Christ, our immortal King and our God."

"Amen," they all murmured. Iza thanked Carlisle, feeling more tranquil than she did a few moments ago.

She hugged all of them without hesitation, mentally hoping that they would forgive her earlier outburst.

"There is nothing to forgive," Eduard told her. He seemed relieved that she was willing to touch them again. When he held out his hand, she instantly took it.

Eduard laughed, the sound instantly bringing light into the dark room. "Actually, I meant for you to give me your bag to carry, but this is even better!" Iza instantly flushed bright red, but Eduard only gave her hand a gentle squeeze for good measure, grasping the handle of the case in the other.

"We shall make certain that your father receives a proper burial, Izochka," Carlisle assured her. "Now hurry!"

Eduard led her quickly down the snowy streets, pulling her into hiding whenever he sensed someone coming. He even noticed a woman gazing idly out of her window, and hastily drew Iza out of view.

"Where are we going?"

Her friend looked down sharply at the woman next to him. She was dressed in a plain cotton dress and a nondescript long gray wool coat, a scarf completely covering her glorious dark hair. Her sturdy boots sloshed through the snow as she struggled to keep up with him. It spoke volumes for her trust in him, that she was willing to go with him without even knowing their destination.

"I'm sorry Iza. I was so concerned about getting you out of there, that no one told you the plan. We are going by train to Chelyabinsk, then east across Siberia to Vladivostok. From Vladivostok, I hope to find a ship that will take us to Canada. From what I understand, Canada supports the White Russians against the Bolsheviks."

"And then?"

"And then, we look for your mother, if that is what you wish."

Iza nodded. This was enough information for now. One hurdle at a time.

At the train station, she and Eduard was careful to not arouse suspicion. He found a ticket agent who appeared to be sympathetic to the wave of bourgeoisie literally fleeing for their lives. Iza had no idea how many gold coins exchanged hands, but they obtained a "hard compartment" for two. Iza waved off Eduard's apology for not providing her with a "soft compartment," where the sleeping berths were cushioned. As long as they were safe, it didn't matter.

It was only when she and Eduard were finally in their compartment, with their bags stowed away and the sliding door locked, that Iza felt a tiny bit of tension leave her. They sat next opposite each other on the lower bunks, gazing out the curtained window at the train slowly chugged away from the station.

The friends watched the city of their youth disappear into the distance, the winter sun glinting off the golden dome of one of the churches. Tears filled Iza's eyes, and she thought she caught a glimpse of moisture in Eduard's as well.

"It all changed so fast," she commented softly. "Twenty-four hours ago I was eating dinner with Papa, and now…"

Eduard was beside her before she knew it, tucking her into his side. "What was the advice he always gave? Look forward, never back, and remember only the happy times."

Iza nodded against his shoulder. All she wanted to do now was sleep, and breathe in the light, comforting scent of the jacket he wore. He was different…she knew that…but he was still Eduard, her great friend and the man with whom she was falling more and more in love.

For a short time, they discussed strategy. Carlisle and Esme were also somewhere on the train. So were several Bolshevik soldiers. For the rest of journey, until they reach Vladivostok, they would speak to each other in Russian, instead of English or French. Iza would use her own passport while in Russia, while Eduard had one under the name of "Eduard Ivanov" – "Cullen" would arouse too much interest. Although there was a dining car, they would keep to their compartment as much as possible. They even discussed toilet logistics. Eduard would accompany her to the public toilet in the next car, and wait for her while she completed her tasks.

"Aren't you being just a touch overprotective?" she teased him.

He frowned, then smiled ruefully. "Maybe, but I don't think so. I would prefer to not take chances with you."

On the second day, the conductor, accompanied by an armed Bolshevik soldier, knocked on their door, demanding to see their tickets and papers.

"Hmmm…" the soldier mused, staring at Iza's passport. "Lebedeva. There was an advisor to the Tsar, Karol Lebedev – a former person. Do you know him?"

Eduard moved forward, partially blocking Iza. "It's possible. My wife has a very large family – they all showed up drunk to our wedding!"

The soldier laughed. "At least they didn't drink all of your vodka."

Eduard gave an exaggerated sigh. "No. I needed that for myself."

The conductor joined in the laughter. When their papers were handed back to Eduard, Iza suspected that both men received a token of gratitude for their silence.

The next few days were mostly boring, with moments of panic. At night Iza slept in the upper berth, while Eduard stayed in the lower. Meals were brought to the compartment, usually by Eduard on an excursion to the fining car. One afternoon Iza grew bored of being babysat, and the train was approaching a small city.

"It can't do any harm to just look out the windows on the other side," she thought. She opened the sliding door and stepped into the narrow passageway. They were passing over a bridge before pulling into the station, and she admired the pretty view of the mountains in the distance.

Suddenly three men, at least one clearly drunk, opened the door at the end of the car and ran, laughing uproariously, down the passageway.

"Look, Boris, we found one!"

"I saw her first!"

Iza fled to their compartment, but one man managed to grab her arm before she could close the door.

"Let me go!" she shouted in Russian. "My husband is on his way now."

"I don't see him yet. Maybe he'll join us."

The man abruptly released her with a cry of pain. "Sorry," she heard Eduard say, his voice like ice. "I don't share."

Backing into the compartment, Iza watched the four men. She'd never seen Eduard look so dangerous. His eyes were black with anger, and something about him made the other three back away. He looked…inhuman.

"You will leave the women on this train alone. Do I make myself clear?"

With stuttered apologies, the men hastily made their exit. Eduard stood with his back to Iza, his shoulders still rigid with anger. "Iza, why did you leave our compartment?" he asked, his voice deceptively calm.

"I wanted to see the city. I'm sorry, Eduard."

He turned to her, still clearly furious. When she took an involuntary step away from him, though, his expression softened. With a heavy sigh, he pinched the bridge of his noise in frustration – a habit left over from his teen years.

"Iza, in this city it is legal to rape bourgeois women. They call it part of their 're-education plan'." Those men would have raped you, and if I had tried to stop them I would have been arrested." He finally looked at her, his eyes pained but returning to their usual dark amber. Usual for now.

"How am I supposed to protect you when you don't do as I ask?"

She couldn't respond to that – he was right. However, from that time on, he made a point of taking her with him.

The ten-day journey allowed them plenty of time to talk…really talk. Miraculously, in Vladivostok, they found a Canadian military ship willing to take "Edward Cullen," British citizen, and his wife "Isabella Swan," American, to Victoria, Canada. Swan was, of course, a translation of "Lebedev."

Late at night, on the last day before arriving in Vancouver, they finally discussed how they felt about each other.

"You love me?" Iza asked incredulously. "I thought…I mean…really?" When Eduard smiled hesitantly and nodded, Iza threw herself into his surprised arms.

"I love you too. For so long, Eduard."

"But Iza, I need to tell you about what happened to me. Once you know what I've become, you will run away from me." He swallowed. "When we reach Canada, and then America, I will take you to your mother and let you go, if that is what you want me to do."

Iza decided to be blunt. "Eduard, you don't eat, you're exceptionally strong, your eyes change colour, and your body is cold and hard. You are now like Carlisle and Esme, but what are you? An angel?"

He pulled away from her slowly, not answering her directly. "You probably didn't realize that Carlisle and Esme travelled with my regiment, as a doctor and nurse. They treated hundreds of Imperial Army soldiers - gunshot wounds, frostbite, Then I contracted cholera."

Iza gasped, knowing that cholera, for soldiers in those conditions, was essentially a death sentence.

"I was dying, and they couldn't bear to see their son leave them so soon. I knew, not long after they adopted me, what they were, and they told me that, when I became an adult, I could make the choice to be changed. When I knew that I was about to die, I told them that I had made my decision."

"And they changed you into…"

"A vampire. I'm a vampire, Iza."

Her eyes widened, but she didn't back away. "What do you eat?"

He sat perfectly still. "You mean drink. I drink animal blood, not human. That is why Carlisle, Esme, and I have gold-coloured eyes instead of red, like the human-drinkers have."

Iza didn't speak for some time, processing what he told her. Meanwhile, Eduard was watching for signs that she wanted to run away.

"So to be with you, I would have to become like you?"

Eduard's eyes widened. This clearly wasn't what he expected her to say. "Um…realistically, yes. It doesn't have to be immediately, of course." His face was a mixture of shock and dawning hope. "Please consider what you are saying and thinking. I was planning to court you when I returned from the war, but now…"

"You can still court me," she interrupted, shifting nearer to him again. "You can start with a repeat of that Happy New Year kiss."

Eduard laughed. "Yes, ma'am."

A few minutes later, Iza was sitting contentedly in Eduard's arms. "That was much better than the Happy New Year kiss," she teased. "Your kissing skills have improved."

"Then we should keep practicing," he responded with a grin. "However, we need to be careful. This is not the best place to get carried away."

The next morning, they disembarked and met Esme and Carlisle, who were travelling on their own British passports. While waiting in customs, they listened to a small group of Russian émigrés speaking in French.

"There is a settlement of Russians here," one man was saying. "We will stay until the civil war ends, then return to our normal lives." The others agreed. After all, it couldn't take _that_ long.

"They won't be able to go back, will they?" Iza asked. " Just like we won't."

"They may be able to return," responded Carlisle sadly, "But it won't be the same Russia. Their Russia is already gone."

Iza looked up at the young man standing closely beside her. "Papa was right," she said. "Look forward, never back, and remember only the happy times."

* * *

NOTES:

Dyadya = uncle

Tetye = aunt

Iza, Izochka = diminutives of Izabella

A patronymic essentially means "son of" or "daughter of." For example, "Karolovna" is "daughter of Karol," and "Vasilievich" is "son of Vasili."

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